


Bi-lingual

by Nerdalie_29



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, and i also like the idea that anyone that knows francis is a little turned on by him, bad french translation from a non french speaker, but i add english translations so you know what i'm trying to say, even his bffs, i think the idea of francis teaching his friends french is cute, matthew is also a little shit in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdalie_29/pseuds/Nerdalie_29
Summary: Gilbert enjoys the bus ride to work like any other human being; bored out of his mind, tired even after multiple cups of coffee, spending the entire time on his phone. But when a certain blonde beauty starts taking the bus and chooses to sit next to him, Gilbert starts speaking French so he can't understand him.





	Bi-lingual

On a rainy Monday afternoon, Gilbert quickly makes his way to the bus stop, head down and hood up, one hand holding his briefcase and the other holding his phone up to his ear. He shudders as a big drop of rain falls on his exposed collarbone and slides down his chest; he attempts to close in on himself, trying to guard the exposed skin against the rain, but to no avail. Carefully side-stepping some puddles, he walks past the large groups of people leaving the bus stop. His best friend Francis is telling him about his plans for his vacation on his way to work as a part of their pact to talk every day - he’d moved away after they graduated high school and it was a silly pact that Antonio had made during the going away party he’d thrown. Tony was too sad to see him go and demanded that they keep in touch, and, to be fair, he was the one who made them talk so often at first. But, now… Now it was just a habit, one that none of them really minded, to talk to each other every day about something or another, and knowing those three, there was always something to talk about. Last time they’d talked, he’d told Antonio and Francis about how work was going. The time before that, Antonio talked about how work was going for him. And… the time before that, Francis had talked about work and his family and… Gilbert couldn’t really remember much more than that. 

That was how the last few calls had gone, and now all of a sudden, Francis realized how boring that was. He claimed that they were living “boring, grown up lives” after always having so much fun in high school. They’d always get into so much trouble, but they were always together for it, and he missed that. Gilbert couldn’t argue with him on that fact - it had been about three years since they’d met up face to face. But first, Francis had to go home before they could plan any fun get together. So, currently, Francis was telling him he was planning on going back to France to visit his extended family and was rusty on his French, since it’d been nearly twenty years since he’d been. He was now whining loudly into Gilbert’s ear as he packed, begging him to help practice his French or he’d never hear the end of it.

“S'il vous plaît, Gilly?” Francis whines, making Gilbert roll his eyes. He hated that nickname and Francis knew it. “Tu sembles toujours si jolie quand tu parles français!” (You always sound so pretty when you speak french!)

“Don’t call me that,” Gilbert mumbles, settling into the bench underneath the overhanging shelter and hiding from the rain. “And  _ no. _ ” 

“What was the point of all those tutor sessions, then?” Francis huffs and Gilbert can hear the pout through the fucking phone, that bastard. “Remember? I taught you French in high school so you could talk to pretty girls and impress them and it got you laid  _ so  _ often? You owe me for like, a thousand girls-”

“It was  _ not  _ a thousand girls, it was more like- two, at  _ most _ -” Gilbert tries to protest but Francis continues. 

“So I think this is a perfectly fine way to pay me back for all of that help before you were as cool and suave as you are now. Unless you’d like to pay me back in a  _ different  _ way~!” Francis purrs and Gilbert damns the blush that appears on his cheeks. As much as he hates it, Francis knows exactly how to get  _ on  _ his nerves and exactly how to get  _ off  _ of them. 

“Francis, I don’t  _ want  _ to-” 

“ _ Gilbert… _ !” Francis whines again. He sighs into his phone and slumps back. 

“Fine. C’est stupide. Happy?” (This is stupid.) He says with a smirk, ignoring the Frenchman yelling back at him through the phone with an ecstatic tone. 

He waits a few minutes for the next bus to arrive and open its doors before he quickly jumps on, shaking the rain off of his stark white hair and taking a seat towards the back after he pays for the ride. The bus is oddly full today, he thinks, barely listening to the frenchman go on and on about his exact plans for his trip back home. He briefly pays attention as the bus starts moving, turning to look out the window and watch the rain drip down the windows. He begins to plan out his day, starting with work and ending with a trip to the gym; what was it that he needed to do at work today again? Sylvia had asked him to help him with something when she left last night, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was. Sylvia was always asking for his help, so it wasn’t all that surprising that he couldn’t remember-

“Hey, Gil,” Francis catches his attention away from the window and he sits up a bit, glancing around at the very many people around him. 

“Yeah?” There’s a frustrated sigh on the other end. 

“Have you even been listening to me?” Gilbert pauses to think. Honestly, no, he hasn’t been listening, but maybe he could get away with it if he spoke French back to him…? 

“Oui!” 

“Mhm.” Francis mutters, unimpressed. “Qu'est-ce que je viens de dire?” (what did I just say?) 

“Uh…” Gilbert glances around and struggles to remember what he was only-sorta-kinda listening to.  _ Damn it _ . 

“You… want me to speak French more often because I sound sexy when I speak French?” Gilbert says, a bit hopefully, but in English, earning an even more frustrated sigh from the Frenchman on the other end. “Lo siento, mi amigo.” He adds on with a shit-eating grin. 

“That’s Spanish and you know it!” 

“Hey, Toni would... be... proud…” Gilbert trails off as the bus doors open and the most beautiful human being he’s ever fucking seen steps on, shaking the rain from his hoodie as he pulls it down. He smiles a gorgeous, dazzling yet somehow effortless smile at the bus driver, who can’t help but smile back - Gilbert didn’t even know that bus driver  _ could  _ smile - then he turns to look down the aisle of seats, looking for a free seat. His eyes lock onto Gilbert’s and suddenly Gilbert realizes how empty the seat beside him is and how full every single other seat is. 

“Oh mon Dieu,” he whispers, suddenly feeling very cold and very warm at the same time as the gorgeous long-haired blonde makes his way towards the only empty seat. He turns to Gilbert as the bus starts to move again and shines that brilliant, thousand-watt smile down at him, hair fucking cascading down his shoulders like a goddamn  _ model _ , like he just came from a photoshoot and had his hair  _ professionally done _ and it still looks that way despite the rain and he has bright blue eyes sparkling at his own bright red eyes and-

“Is this seat taken?” He asks, voice soft and quiet but deep and lovely and Gilbert forgets how to speak in  _ every  _ language. The most he can muster is a small shake of his head and some sort of gesture that must have come off as “go ahead”, because Matthew thanks him and sits down, crossing his legs. Gilbert watches as he pulls out a book, adjusts his large, round glasses, and settles in for the ride. He briefly thinks about trying to strike up a conversation, maybe make some small talk to try and learn more about this gorgeous stranger, maybe ask him where he’s headed- but Francis pulls him out of his trance again, thankfully, before he’s staring at the blonde for too long. 

“Gilbert!” Francis shouts, groaning thankfully when he finally gets a response. “What the hell is happening to you, today?” 

“Uh…” Gilbert briefly thinks about his answer before he decides to speak in French, quietly so as to not bother the most beautiful man in the world. “Pardon, Francis. L'être humain le plus magnifique était assis à côté de moi.” (Sorry, Francis. The most gorgeous human being just sat next to me.) Francis laughs and leans back on his bed, pausing his work at packing for his vacation. It could wait so he could participate in his favorite activity: fucking with Gilbert. 

“I see,” Francis hums to himself, tucking an arm behind his neck to settle in. “You know, you don’t  _ have  _ to speak French anymore, I’ve given up.” 

“Non, non!” Gilbert protests with a small blush and a frown. “Je ne veux pas que ... quelqu'un m'entende, tu sais?” (I don’t… want them to hear me, you know?) He grits his teeth as Francis snickers. 

“This is amazing…” He mumbles, taking the phone away from his ear and putting it on speaker. “Hold on, I’m calling Antonio.” 

“Francis-!” Gilbert hisses, glancing worriedly at the blonde next to him, but it’s too late. He hears the ringing as the phone is turned into a three-way conversation and Antonio almost immediately picks up. Gil briefly thinks about hanging up on them, maybe turning his phone off so they couldn’t blow up his phone and embarrass him even more, but honestly, talking to his friends was probably the only way he was going to keep himself from staring at the blonde the entire car ride to work. Besides, they’d  _ never  _ let him forget it if he hung up on them.

“Hola, mis amigos!” Antonio grins his normal foolish grin and plops into a chair to answer the call from his very best friends, ignoring the faux-annoyed look he got from Lovino. “How’s it goin’? Francis, are you done packing already?”

“No, but something very,  _ very  _ interesting came up.” Francis says with a smirk, immediately catching the Spaniard’s attention. Gilbert leans his head in his hand and his elbow on the window with a deep sigh. He glances at the blonde to his right who seems none-the-wiser, and watches as he goes to turn another page in his book, as if on cue; after a moment of hesitation, he decides this is alright. Not great, but alright. This guy probably can’t speak French anyway, right? It’s kind of an odd language to know in the States, so… 

“Ooh, very,  _ very  _ interesting, Francis?” Antonio smirks with Francis and Gilbert remembers with an annoyed look the very, very, very many days this same sort of thing had happened in high school. These two loved messing with him since they were young and took every opportunity they could to embarrass him. Of course, Gilbert always said he would  _ never  _ do that to either of those two, but all three of them knew how much of a hypocrite he was, so it was only fair. At least, that’s what Francis always said. 

“Guys-” 

“Ah, ah, ah, you have to speak in French, oui? Otherwise they’ll hear you~!” 

“Who? Who will hear him??” Antonio asks excitedly. 

“Would you care to answer our dear friend Toni’s question, Gilly?” Gilbert groans and glances at the blonde again, who remains quiet and, except for the occasional page-flip, relatively motionless. He stays quiet for a moment before he turns toward the window again with a sigh, mumbling into his phone. 

“Il y a un homme très attirant qui était assis à côté de moi.” (A very attractive man just sat next to me.) He finally answers, whispers into the phone, taking a careful glance at the other man next to him. He watches as the man sports a small, smile, turning the page to his book, then watches as the smile slowly fades. He read something in the book, then, he thinks. With a relieved sigh, he turns away again. Francis pouts and whines over the phone. 

“That’s  _ not  _ what you told me.” 

“What??” Antonio pouts as well. “You can’t tell Francis something different than you’re telling me, Gilly! That’s not fair!” 

“Oh my  _ God _ , you two-”

“In French!” Francis demands, laughing as he says it. 

“Fine!” Gilbert shouts, glancing around the bus as they glance toward the sudden exclamation; all except for the blonde beside him. He sighs. “Bien. J'ai dit à Francis que l'être humain le plus magnifique était assis à côté de moi.” (Fine. I told Francis the most gorgeous human being just sat next to me.) 

“Hm,” Antonio taps his finger against his chin with a large grin. “Mind translating that for me, Francis? My French never was that good.”

“Oh, but of course, Antonio! He said he’d love to fuck the stranger on the bus he’s sitting next to~!” Francis purrs into the phone and Antonio laughs, falling back in the chair and receiving another annoyed look from his boyfriend, while Gilbert puts the right side of his face in his empty hand, exasperated. 

“Ils pourraient vous entendre, têtes de dick.” Antonio’s laugh turns into a snort and he nods. (They could hear you, dick heads.) 

“Alright, alright. But you’re the one talking right in front of them,” He says and Gilbert shrugs. 

“Yeah, but…” He glances over at the blonde again, who turns the page once more. “il n'a pas répondu du tout, donc je ne pense pas qu'il parle français.” (He hasn’t responded at all, so I don’t think he speaks French.) 

“Well, is he gay?” Antonio asks, genuinely interested now. 

“How the hell should I know?” Gilbert asks quietly, this time in English. Both boys sigh, almost ashamed, into the phone. 

“Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert… Sweet, sweet, innocent Gilbert… Have we taught you nothing?” Gil rolls his eyes. “There are a million ways to know if someone is gay.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?”    
“Well, for instance, how is he sitting?” Antonio asks. Gilbert blinks, doesn’t answer for a second. 

“What?” 

“Y’know, how is he sitting? Legs wide open, legs shut but not crossed, legs crossed but in that, y’know, where it’s just kinda balancing?” Antonio asks, demonstrating for him even though Gilbert can’t see him. With a chuckle, the Frenchman reminds Antonio that he’s on the phone and not right in front of them, so they can’t see his demonstrations; still, it’s in his blood, the Spaniard can’t help but move around and gesture wildly as if he were talking to the two boys in his own home. Meanwhile, Gilbert looks over at the other man and slowly, carefully, glances at his legs, trying not to ogle or be too obvious about it. And as if by magic, the man adjusts in his seat and switches which legs were crossed, a tight cross and he bounces his foot after he settles back in.. 

“None of the above.” Gilbert finally answers after he tears his eyes away from the slim but shapely body next to him. 

“Oh…” Antonio and Francis say in perfect unison, a habit they picked up while growing up together and could not shake, despite not seeing each other every single day like they used to. Gilbert’s heart kind of drops, suddenly worried that meant no, he’s straight. Where on Earth did they learn all of this anyway? What were they even basing their questions on? Why should he even believe them? Why does he feel so disappointed that the answer might be no? 

“Well, that’s-”

“I mean, that’s not a-”

“Y’know, that one’s hard-”

“Yeah, it could be-”

“Yeah maybe that, like, maybe he’s just-”

“Guys!” Gilbert hisses into the phone, cutting off their babbling back and forth. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He says even quieter than before, suddenly very aware of how he himself was sitting in this bus seat. Should  _ he  _ be crossing his legs or not? What was appropriate for him? Should he be fucking  _ standing _ ? Laying down? What the hell were those two on about?

“It’s-it’s nothing. He’s, like… probably gay.” Francis answers.

“Probably?” He echoes, even more confused than before.  

“Probably.” Francis and Antonio answer in unison and Gilbert groans. 

“You guys are the worst. And that’s a terrible way to tell if… you know, you’re just dumbasses,” He mutters, shaking his head.

Suddenly, the bus is pulling to a stop, and Gilbert realizes he has to get off in order to go to work. He panics in his seat, ignoring the boys once again and he tries to think of what to do. He had to go to work - he couldn’t just follow this gorgeous man around all day - but he couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again. He’d never seen him before, so what if today had been a fluke? Maybe he’d missed the bus and needed to catch a later one. Maybe his car was in the shop and he just needed to take the bus for a few days. Maybe he wasn’t even from around here, or-

Groaning, Gilbert jumps up, flashes a quick, friendly, possibly pained smile at the stranger and runs off the bus before the doors close. He needs to get to work. If the worst thing that happened this week was he never saw him again, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

But… it would certainly feel like it. 

 

The next morning, Gilbert sits hopeful in his usual seat, the rest of the bus just as full as before. He holds his phone in his hand, anxiously checking the time every now and then, glancing outside and then around the bus as if maybe the gorgeous stranger had snuck on when he wasn’t looking (though he  _ had  _ been looking the entire time). It felt like it had been hours since he’d gotten on and he had to keep checking the buildings they were driving past to make sure he hadn’t missed his stop because he was too anxious looking for the blonde man. 

He bounces his knee, chews on his fingernails, then on his lip, glancing side to side every few minutes, arching his neck to look over and out at the bus stop they stop at, every single time they stop. 

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a breath, a short laugh that says ‘this is ridiculous’, then takes a deeper one and tries to calm down. He’d never gotten this nervous before. Why was he  _ so  _ nervous just to see another human being before? He’d spent all last night trying to remember every little detail about the other man, but since he was talking about him on the phone while sitting right next to him and he’d been trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, he was staring out the window instead of at him, staring at the seat in front of him instead of looking over at those gorgeous, kind eyes. 

Suddenly, the bus stops. He feels his eyes drawn to the door. It feels as though it opens in slow motion, but then he’s there. He sees the blonde hair peek up from the steps by the bus’s doors, then the tops of the frames of his glasses, then his beautiful, gorgeous eyes, and then- oh lord, and then there’s that  _ smile _ . He can’t believe he’s actually here, he’s- he’s walking down the aisle and suddenly the seats are... empty...? Gilbert could swear they were completely full before except for the seat by him, but he doesn’t care because he’s suddenly right here and all he can think to say is- 

Nothing. He tries to speak but he can’t. His mouth is dry, his brain isn’t working, whatever the reason  _ is,  _ he can’t speak. But the blonde smiles down at him, almost smirks down at him, and places a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey there,” the low, sultry voice says and Gilbert suddenly can’t breathe. “This seat taken?” He asks, gesturing to the seat on Gilbert’s right, even though now the rest of the bus was completely empty. He wanted to sit next to  _ him  _ \- no, he  _ wanted  _ to sit next to  _ him. _ Somehow Gil manages to shake his head - at least, he’s pretty sure he does - and the other man smiles gratefully, moving to take a seat.

Then the seat to his right is gone. Gilbert stares at it, then looks up at the other man who pouts, shrugs, then moves to stand directly in front of Gil. The seats all vanish from around them and suddenly the blonde is moving to lean in close to his face and his breath smells sweet and his lips curl into a smirk and dear  _ God  _ Gilbert has never been so turned on, so suddenly aware of his surroundings and unaware of his surroundings at the same time, and then the blonde is speaking but he doesn’t quite hear him and he lowers himself onto Gilbert’s lap, that gorgeous, sexy smirk ever-present and-

“Guess I’ll just have to sit here,” He says, straddling his lap, arms draped across his shoulders as he leans in to whisper in Gilbert’s ear. He shudders, hands locked on his sides and breath shaky as he tries to remain as normal as possible- not that any of this was normal, who on Earth would think this is normal??? 

“C’mon, Gilly… Why won’t you hold me?” The blonde whispers, full lips turned into a pout as suddenly Gilbert feels the full weight of him pressing down onto his- oh, Lord, is this really happening? 

“No one’s here… it’s just you and me, Gil…” The voice whines a bit and Gilbert’s breath catches in his throat. “Take me, Gil. You know you want to.” He looks up at the man’s face and realizes he’s not speaking, but the voice continues. He feels his hands all over him, on his face and on his groin and on his legs and on his hair all at once, all over him and no where on him at the same time, constantly touching and never touching, and he can barely contain himself and then-

 

Gilbert wakes up to the sound of his alarm going off and some very, very tight underwear. 

“God dammit…” Gilbert’s senses soon return to him and he lays on his back, hand on his forehead as he slowly wakes up and fully realizes the situation. It was a dream - of  _ course  _ it was a dream. Well, better to be embarrassed and wet in his own bed than on public transportation, he supposes. 

As he gets ready to take a shower and fix his little problem, he breathes a small sigh, mixed with relief and frustration. It’d been a few days since he’d met the blonde man and he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now that he was on this route - at least he assumed that was the case because Gil had been taking this bus since God knows when and he’d never seen the other man before - he saw him every day and every day began a new fantasy sequence that kept him from waking up dry and- well… Most of the time it was similar to this last dream; the other man would come on the bus and the seats would disappear, leaving only one option for him to sit while the bus drove them to their destinations. Sometimes that’s where it ended, just a simple but rather awkward interaction with him. But more often than not it ended with the two of them doing some unspeakable things on public transportation, though the scene usually devolved into sex in his bed and less often sex on the bus. 

Now dry and clean, Gilbert shakes a towel through his hair as he heads downstairs, half dressed and half awake, to make some coffee and maybe some cereal. He glances at himself in the mirror in his hallway, pursing his lips in thought, before he sighs and nods at himself. 

Today would be the day. He’d ask him out today and that would be the end of it. 

 

Okay, so, as it turns out, asking really, really hot people out is harder than it seems. 

Or at least this is what Gilbert comes to find. The next few mornings are passed in silence. Gilbert goes the rest of the week seeing the blonde man but not having the luck to sit next to him. A few days he sits behind him and Gilbert has to stop himself from glancing behind him (or, staring behind him, more like it) the entire ride to work. Other days he sits in front of him and he can’t take his eyes away. He notices a few strands of red hair, as if maybe he’d dyed his hair before and it had faded, or maybe he’d dyed parts in the back so it wouldn’t be seen. There was so much to this stranger that Gilbert didn’t know and he was suffering over it. Even though he saw him every single day, even though they smiled that damned dazzling smile at him every single day and he even passed by him, brushed his hand or arm or leg against him on accident while he walked past in the tiny aisle to get off the bus, he never talked to him. As much as it was  _ killing  _ him to just stay silent, to just stare at him for the ten minute bus ride until he had to go to work, he just… couldn’t bring himself to ask him out. He couldn’t work up the courage. 

Which was a weird phenomenon for Gilbert. He was normally incredibly suave, confident, sexy, with every single person he flirted with. He’d never had a problem. Okay, he’d never had  _ this hard  _ a problem. Sure, he’d been nervous to ask out someone he really liked before, but he’d never gotten so nervous about it he couldn’t sleep. He literally was losing sleep over this stranger, whose name he didn’t even know.

So the next week, Gilbert is sitting on the bus, game plan in his head, phone in his hand. Francis was going on and on about how good his vacation was, how much fun he had, and how wonderful his family was doing. He mentions how much his family misses Gilbert and how they’d made fun of him for messing up his French because he’d been in the states too long and Gilbert are you even listening to me? 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry,” Gilbert says, then takes a deep breath. “No, I wasn’t.” Francis hums, slightly amused at his friend’s honesty. 

“What’s the matter, my friend?” 

“Ah…” Gilbert runs a hand down his face and laughs, then says quietly into the phone, “It’s stupid. I’m… gonna ask him out.” 

“Who?”

“That guy.” Silence. “Y’know, the really hot one?” More silence. “On the bus!”

“Oh, yes, yes, right! The one you keep having wet dreams about!” Gilbert’s face burns a bright red and he desperately tries to turn the volume on his phone down as Francis shouts into his ear. 

“Y-Yes, that one,” He mutters, rolling his eyes. Maybe… today was a bad day to ask him out… 

“You sound so nervous, Gil! Are you feeling alright? Do you need me to come down and do it for you? Here- where are you, where’s the next stop, I’m already on my way-”

“No, Francis-!” Gilbert starts protesting but is cut by someone clearing their throat to his right. He blinks and looks up, heart immediately racing when he sees the blonde man looking down at him with a smaller but still just as gorgeous smile. 

“May I sit here?” He asks and Gil just wordlessly nods. The man sits down and crosses his legs, pulling out his book once more as the bus starts to move again. Gil silently stares at him for a few more moments, briefly glancing at the pages in his book before wondering how on Earth someone can be so effortlessly beautiful and confident and kind while hardly saying a word, before he turns back to his phone. 

“Je ne peux pas le faire.” (I can’t do it). He says quietly into the phone, breathless as if he’d ran ten miles in the last ten seconds. Francis furrows his eyebrows, sitting up in his seat to fully address him. 

“What? You can’t do it- wh-what do you mean?” 

“Je viens- Je ne peux pas.” (I can’t- I can’t do it.) He stammers, clearing his throat and trying to calm down his beating heart. Why was this so hard for him? He didn’t even know the man’s name and he was acting like it was already their wedding day and he was worried about the rest of his life. He felt like he was going to faint because he was so worried the other man would- would what? He didn’t even know what he was worried about, but now that he was worrying about what he was worrying about he was- well, worried. Would he ignore him? Would he reject him? Would he laugh in his face? Would he get so disgusted that he’d stand up and move seats, maybe just stay standing until the bus got to his stop just so he didn’t have to sit next to Gilbert anymore? 

“Gilbert, why not? What’s wrong?” Francis’s genuinely concerned voice cuts into his thoughts and he swallows nervously. He glances at the blonde and his answer gets caught in his throat; time feels like it slows down as he completely takes in the man next to him. He was wearing a tighter shirt this time and it felt like it was on purpose, he swore. You could see every single fucking rippling muscle this man had - as long and lanky the man seemed, his bulky jacket seemed to just be hiding the taut and lean muscle underneath. His hair was slightly damp from the rain again but it only made it a bit wavy as it air-dried. The glasses were low on his nose, allowing Gilbert to peer underneath them and see the bright eyes slowly scanning the book, going back and forth and back and forth, seemingly endlessly. He’s brought back to his numerous dreams where the man stares up at from underneath him, grasping at the bedsheets and giving him the sexiest look he’s ever seen. 

“Je ne peux pas m'empêcher d'imaginer à quoi il ressemblerait dans mon lit.” (I can’t stop picturing what he’d look like in my bed.) He whispers into his phone, rolling his eyes when Francis laughs and starts talking again. But all of a sudden the blonde speaks up, never taking his eyes off of his book, though his lips curl into a mischievous grin and his cheeks are a bright shade of red. 

“At least take me to dinner first.” He says. Gilbert’s stomach sinks to his knees - no, sinks to the floor, drills a hole in the floor and goes halfway to  _ China  _ as he realizes that the blonde had been listening. That the blonde spoke French. That he knew  _ every single word he’d ever spoken to Francis about him while they were riding on this bus together.  _

“Um…” Gilbert opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, stammering and voice cracking while Francis goes on and on over the phone, detailing exactly what Gilbert should do without a care for what was actually happening on the other end of the phone. “I’ll… call you back, Francis.” 

Silently, Gilbert hangs up, ignoring his friend’s protestation, and puts his phone in his lap, staring at the blonde, who hasn’t moved since he spoke, but still has that shit-eating grin on his face, still has that bright red hue on his cheeks, eyes still glued to the book. Gil glances down and realizes with a start - he hasn’t been reading this book this entire time. He’s been on the same page since he first sat down next to Gilbert and he’s just been pretending. His legs are crossed again and he realizes that- that if he  _ knew  _ what they were saying, if he could  _ hear  _ the phone call, that he’d crossed his legs again as if to  _ signal  _ to Gilbert that he was... He’s been faking it so he could listen to Gilbert talk about him.  _ He knew exactly what they’d been saying _ . 

“Oh my God,” Gilbert whispers, slumping down in his seat as the other man starts to giggle, closing his book. “Oh my  _ God _ . This is a dream, right? This is just another dream I’m having.”

“I don’t think so,” He responds, turning to fully address Gil with that stupid, stupid grin that he suddenly loves so much. 

“You…” Gil starts, then shakes his head, putting his hands over his face, his words echoing through his palms. He couldn’t bear to look at the other man right now. “You could understand me?” 

“Yeah,” he says, somewhat apologetic. 

“The whole time?” 

“Yeah,” He says again, even more apologetic, though he won’t stop smiling, even laughs a little this time. “I’m sorry, I should have said something, I just- I’ve never heard… You were so cute, and getting so flustered, I didn’t want to make it worse, you know? And you were saying such nice things, I’ve never heard…” He takes a breath. “And then I just… couldn’t help myself…” He sounds apologetic but god damn it he won’t stop grinning. Gilbert falls further down in his seat. 

“Oh my God, I’m going to die. This is it, this is how I die, embarrassed and kind of turned on.” The other man laughs and Gilbert swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

“No, no, don’t die!” He says, still laughing. “Don’t die, I’m sorry, I really am. I just thought it was really funny.” 

“I’m glad my death is so amusing for you.” Gilbert says, rather dramatically, though he smiles and glances up at him through his fingers.  

“No, no!” The other man places a hand on his arm, his other hand covering his mouth as he continues to laugh, though he’s trying to stop, really, he is. His hand is so warm and Gilbert suddenly feels less dead inside. “Please, I-I thought it was…” 

“Embarrassing? Rude? Inappropriate? The worst French you’ve ever heard?”

“Cute. And flattering.” He finishes, then smiles down at Gilbert. Gilbert’s heart flutters and he smiles back from his deeply reclined position in this uncomfortable bus seat. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way. So you can put a name to the gorgeous stranger’s face.” He says with a small, somewhat embarrassed smile - Gilbert gets the feeling he’s not normally this forthright and confident and that fact makes Gilbert feel a little bit better. He sits up and extends a hand. 

“Gilbert.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Matthew says, shaking his hand briefly. “And your French isn’t half bad, actually! Pretty good for an American.” Gil laughs, nods, then shrugs, still somewhat nervous and shaky, if he’s being honest, but feeling ten times better, knowing the blonde- knowing  _ Matthew  _ has a sense of humor about it. 

“Thanks. One of my best friends is from France and insisted on teaching us. What about you?” 

“Oh, I’m Canadian, eh?” He exaggerates the accent, making Gilbert laugh again, face darkening at the odd sound he thinks he makes, though Matthew’s face lights up whenever he makes him laugh. “I learned English  _ and  _ French from a pretty early age.” 

“That’s so cool,” Gilbert smiles genuinely and Matthew smiles back, then suddenly realizes his hand is still on the other’s arm. He pulls it away quickly, cheeks reddening as he glances away. 

“So, why are you-” Gilbert starts but cuts himself off as Matthew turns back with a frown, then smiles sadly at him. 

“I’m sorry, I have to get off at this stop today.” He stands and offers a small smile as he quickly but reluctantly starts walking with the crowd of people off the bus. Gilbert’s heart sinks again, realizing maybe Matthew was just being nice, maybe he was really freaked out by what he was saying, maybe he would never see him again- 

“Oh!” Matthew’s back by his side, extending a hand to him, offering a small piece of paper. Gilbert recognizes it as a business card. “Please, call me. I’d love to talk more, but maybe just… not on a bus?” He grins again, this time just happily, waiting for Gilbert to take the business card. Quickly, Gil stands up and takes it, grinning just as wide, just as happy, and he nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Yeah, definitely! Um, I’ll-I’ll see you later?” Matthew nods at him, then quickly runs to hop off the bus. He turns as he walks in front of the bus to cross the street, and waves back at the window where Gilbert turns to stare out, carefully clutching the business card in his hand. He stares until the bus drives away and he loses sight of the blonde. 

Before he can forget, he adds the information on the business card to his phone and makes a mental note to text him as soon as he gets to work. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first fic on AO3!!! Please please please feel free to leave a comment if you liked it!!!!  
> I do not speak French, if my google translations aren't an obvious indication of that. Please, if you are a native speaker, let me know and I'll do my best to fix any mistakes!!!!  
> And if you didn't catch the whole gay or straight, crossing legs thing, it was me implying that Matt is bisexual. Because he is. Bicon.


End file.
